


In My Time of Need

by purple_bookcover



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Short Metodey, Facial, Hate Fuck, Humiliation, M/M, Messy, Oral, Praise, but here's more, metacheron, no one asked for this and no one deserves it, they're not nice to each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24113401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: Acheron needs help. Dimitri, Edelgard and Claude are all at war and the walls are closing in on Acheron. He has to find a way out.Unfortunately, that way is Metodey.
Relationships: Metodey/Acheron
Comments: 14
Kudos: 10





	In My Time of Need

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is not a nice story. They are terrible weasels who are mean and nasty and I don't care what horrible things they do to each other. 
> 
> PLEASE BE ADVISED before you go any further that this is not a nice story. It is a hate fuck in an alleyway. There are moments where they get pretty rough with each other, though they're both enjoying the action.

The war crept closer to Leicester every day. Acheron could do little but watch.

“They’re requesting aid,” the messenger said.

“Who?” Acheron said.

“All of them.” 

Acheron paced the study of his rundown keep, the last keep or fortress or fucking garden shed to his family’s name. He could feel the walls of the crumbling structure closing in on every side. Pressure from Dimitri, who wanted to keep Leicester neutral. Pressure from Claude, who was trying to prevent the Alliance from fracturing. Pressure from Edelgard, who pushed up from the south with Leicester in her sights. 

No matter where he turned, there was a blade to his neck, a knife to his back, a hand at his throat. 

He stopped at a window, pressing his hands against the sill and hunching forward. Fodlan rolled away, hills bumping down into thickets, rivers cutting like ribbons across the landscape. 

Which enemy would arrive first? Who would turn these tranquil hills red with blood and incite the battle that would topple Acheron’s meager holdings? 

“They request a response, sir,” the messenger said.

Acheron whirled, snarling at the man. “Get out.”

“But--”

“Leave or I’ll hang your head from the turrets. Is that response enough?” 

The man blanched, bowing as he scuttled away. 

Acheron sighed into the ensuing silence. There was still one way, still one path he hadn’t yet had to take. But it turned his stomach even to consider it. Surely, there had to be another way. 

Even as he considered it, he felt the walls pressing closer and knew he was doomed to tread this last, desperate path.

He shuddered from revulsion. And, perhaps, from something more.

#

Acheron pulled the hood up, trying to conceal his powdered curls and waxed mustache. It would not do to be recognized, not in this place.

Even with the amount and variety of people wandering the underground, though, he found it difficult not to stick out. These Abyss types weren’t like him. They were rough and dirty. Half of them carried knives on their hips, not even attempting to conceal the weapons. 

Acheron stepped in a puddle, jerking aside only to bump into a huge boulder of a man who grumbled down at him. Acheron scampered away, rushing down a side alley and putting his back against a stone wall. It smelled wretched, but at least he was alone. He closed his eyes, sighing.

This was a mistake, an awful mistake. He’d just have to go back and deal with the three armies squeezing in on him on his own. Surely, it couldn’t be worse than this. There was always someone who could be bribed or bargained with. 

“Well, well.”

He gasped, eyes flying open as he shoved away from the wall. Someone stepped into the alley, a mere silhouette for now. As they came nearer, the lean lines of their body solidified. Acheron blanched. 

“You actually came,” Metodey said. 

Acheron drew himself up, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, of course.” 

Metodey’s perpetual smirk widened into a toothy grin. His amber eyes, the same color as that odd streak in his hair, glinted like chips of agate. It was like being appraised by a cat, one who liked to play with its food before finally putting it out of its misery. 

Metodey pounced, a blur of movement in the dark of the alley. Acheron grunted as he felt his back hit the wall. His wrists were pressed to the stone, held there by hands as unrelenting as shackles. 

Metodey was close. His tongue flickered out, licking at his lip, like a snake tasting Acheron on the air. That pink tongue ran over Metodey’s teeth next, gliding along sharp incisors. 

It made Acheron shiver – with what, he dared not name.

Metodey leaned close, his mouth at Acheron’s neck. He was breathing in, almost snuffling along Acheron’s neck and up to his ear. That tongue darted out again, flicking Acheron’s earlobe. 

There was no denying the tremor that quivered through Acheron this time, especially as he squirmed in Metodey’s vice-like hold. 

Metodey backed away to grin at Acheron. He was not a large man ( _fight me, Intsys, smoltodey rights, fucking FIGHT ME_ ) but he seemed to loom then. When he spoke, his words were hot along Acheron’s neck. 

“What are you doing here, my little lordling?” 

Acheron had to swallow before he could respond. “Y-you said...” He hated that traitorous quaver in his voice, though he suspected he was hiding little from Metodey at this point. 

“Mmm, I did. I said you could come here if you like. That I might have a solution for your little issue. But that’s not why you’re here, is it, Lordling?”

“No.” It emerged as a whine. Acheron dearly wished he could draw it back, shove it down his throat and trap it somewhere it could never emerge. But the word had been spoken and judging by the feral grin on Metodey’s mouth, there was no going back.

Metodey grinned with all his teeth. “I didn’t think so.”

He shoved a hand unceremoniously down Acheron’s pants, grabbing his cock and stroking it without preamble. Acheron nearly choked, held up only by the wall to his back. He realized his hands were free now, but even so he could do little more with them than grip Metodey’s shoulders and attempt to stay upright. He felt himself getting helplessly hard in Metodey’s hand, responding with humiliating swiftness. 

“I’ll help you,” Metodey said. 

Acheron didn’t realize he was whining until he attempted to replace the pathetic sounds with actual words. “Y-you will?”

“Of course, Lordling,” Metodey said. 

“W-why?”

Metodey leaned forward, nipping at Acheron’s neck while he continued to stroke him. “Because you’re so very fun to play with.” 

Acheron whined in earnest then, long and high and trembling. It was a sound of intermingled fear and anticipation, disgust and arousal, and he was helpless to stop it. 

“Look at you,” Metodey cooed, “dripping all over my hand already. How disgusting.”

He removed his hand from Acheron’s pants, holding it up so they could both see the mess. Acheron wanted to squirm away, to hide, but he knew Metodey wouldn’t allow that. 

“Clean it.”

Acheron froze, his whole body clenching. 

Metodey wiggled his fingers. “Go on,” he said. “Clean it, Lordling.”

Acheron trembled, his cock twitching just from the heat of Metodey’s amber gaze. Metodey used his free hand to grab Acheron’s hair and yank him forward roughly. 

“Or would you prefer we stop?” Metodey said, low and close. 

Acheron’s entire body shivered at that, cold dread competing with the flush lighting his face. “N-no.” 

“Hmm?”

“No,” Acheron said. “No, I-I wouldn’t … prefer that.”

“Then,” Metodey moved his hand nearly to Acheron’s lips, “clean it.”

Acheron opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out tentatively. He just barely grazed it over Metodey’s finger, but he heard a huff as he did. On his next pass, he licked up a finger, tasting himself on Metodey’s skin. 

Metodey’s hand tightening in his hair. The hood fell away as Metodey shook him. “It’s going to take awfully long if you go about it so timidly.”

With that, he shoved two fingers into Acheron’s mouth, holding his hair so Acheron couldn’t lurch away. Metodey started pumping his fingers, fucking Acheron’s mouth with those filth-coated digits. Acheron closed his lips, using his tongue to lick at the fingers invading his mouth. They were foul, dirty, sticky. 

He groaned around them.

“You like your own filth that much?” Metodey said. 

“Mmm,” Acheron moaned around his fingers. 

Metodey yanked them out, leaving Acheron’s mouth achingly empty. He looked down at Acheron with a sneer of disgust. “If you like wretched things so much, I’ll give you one worth having in your mouth.”

Metodey pushed and Acheron sank to his knees in the alley. Acheron opened his mouth, waiting, expectant. He could hear people walking by the alley. His cloak was askew. He was flushed and dirty, on the ground before one of the most vile men he’d ever met, mouth open to receive him. 

Acheron closed his eyes, but it did nothing to assuage his feelings of smallness, belittlement, insignificance. He was lower than the dirt and muck he knelt in. 

He quivered with excitement. 

He reopened his eyes when Metodey’s hand returned to his hair, surprisingly gentle this time, stroking the carefully coiffed curls, petting him like he would a favored hound. 

“Little Lordling, don’t tell me you’ve given up already,” Metodey said. “You were doing so very well.” 

The note of appreciation in Metodey’s voice sent a thrill through Acheron, a flutter that battered at his chest. His mouth was still open and waiting, so he merely shook his head. 

Metodey crouched down, kissing Acheron’s bottom lip, tugging on it with his teeth. His grin was sharp when he drew back. “I see that I misunderstood.”

When he stood, his hard cock was at Acheron’s eye level. Metodey got his hand back in Acheron’s hair, but it wasn’t a stroke this time. It was a handle. Metodey used it to steer Acheron’s yearning mouth to his cock. 

Acheron swallowed it, trying not to think too hard about just how eagerly he’d taken it in. Metodey filled his mouth, nearly reaching his throat. He used the hand in Acheron’s hair to start making him glide up and down his length. 

Acheron hated himself for humming around that cock in his mouth, hated himself for thrumming with pleasure. But gods, it was hard to deny. His mind could scream of the violation of it all, the degradation, but his body betrayed the truth. Acheron’s own cock was twitching and dripping, even as the one in his mouth shoved in deeper. 

Metodey cackled above him, his laugh breathy and broken, but stinging like a slap nonetheless. “Filthy lordling,” he panted. “Filthy, dirty, whorish lordling. You come here begging and I place you on your knees, but I w-wonder – Ha! – if you actually need my help at all.”

“Mmm,” Acheron replied.

“Maybe you just like being on your knees that much.”

Acheron attempted for a moment to disagree, even to shake his head. He got a sharp tug in response. 

“Are you really going to waste time disagreeing when someone could walk down this alley any moment?”

Acheron felt a chill at that – an exhilarating chill that struck to his core. He moaned around Metodey’s cock, squeezing his lips tighter, lashing his tongue at any part of it he could reach, which was a considerable amount considering how deep Metodey had plunged. 

Acheron gave up fighting it, gave up pretending the quiver in his body was anything but want. He reached, groping for Metodey’s hip so he could pull him even deeper. Acheron was nearly choking now, but he ignored his body’s cries. Metodey aided him, using the hand in his hair to rock Acheron’s head back and forth. 

“You make such – heh – such lovely noises,” Metodey said, but Acheron could hear the strain in his voice now. It wasn’t only Acheron keening pathetically anymore. Metodey emitted little yips of excitement, like half-formed cackles. 

“For a – a mighty little lordling,” Metodey said, “you whine like – like a _sluuuu_ –”

He never got to finish that particular jab. Acheron took him as deep as he could, licking, sucking, pulling Metodey closer. Acheron could feel Metodey twitching and throbbing inside his mouth and awaited his due reward. 

He never received it. At least, not the way he expected. 

Metodey jerked back suddenly, pulling out of Acheron’s mouth. Acheron was still gaping, aching for the fullness ripped so abruptly away from him, when something warm struck his face. More cum spurted across his check, his nose, nearly into his eye before Metodey was finished and Acheron realized he was covered in the man’s spend. 

Metodey released Acheron’s hair, stumbling back drunkenly, cackling wildly. 

“Oh, you look so much better this way, Lordling.” 

For a moment, Metodey left him like that, then he tottered back, dropping to his knees. He put a hand at Acheron’s neck to hold him still before he kissed him, cum coating both their lips as he did. 

Acheron let out a choked cry when Metodey grabbed his cock, pumping in swift, sure strokes. 

Metodey pulled his lips away, even as he kept his hand moving. “You did so well, so very well.”

Acheron whined at the praise.

“Oh yes,” Metodey said. “You deserve this now. You earned it. Look at you, such a mess and all for me. What a wretched state to find oneself in.” He squeezed and Acheron trembled in his hold. “But you were so good for me, Lordling, so I suppose you’ve earned a little reward. You can cum now, if you like.” 

Acheron’s body responded as though it’d been waiting all this time for Metodey’s command. He felt himself spill over Metodey’s hand. 

Metodey released him, leaving Acheron panting against the wall, slouched in the alley, as he stood and righted his clothing. In moments, he looked utterly unremarkable, as unruffled as the moment he’d stepped into the alleyway. 

Acheron, meanwhile, was disgusting, his clothes askew, cum on his face, his powdered curls rumpled. He couldn’t even begin to try to right himself, not with the condition he was currently in. 

Even so, as Metodey stepped away, he called out, “Wait.”

Metodey paused, glancing back at Acheron. 

“You,” Acheron said, “you claimed you’d help me.” 

“Did I not already?”

Acheron felt his face flush with heat. “Not … not that sort of assistance.”

Metodey flashed a grin like the edge of a knife. “I know what you meant. Don’t worry, Lordling. I’ll help you.”

“How?” Acheron said. “When? What will you do?”

Metodey merely shrugged before turning and stepping away down the alley, disappearing into the street beyond and the tangle of the Abyss. 

Acheron struggled to right himself, to cobble together some semblance of order among the ruin Metodey had made of his clothes and dignity. He could right most of it, wipe off the cum with his cloak, hide his face and hair within the cowl of his hood, but something about Metodey seemed to linger about him, to cling to his skin and hair with a tenacity 100 baths would not be able to wash clean. 

Acheron licked his finger, tasting the filth on it. 

Not that he actually wanted to wash it clean. Some part of him knew exactly what he truly was under the powders and perfumes and curls, some part of him that already ached for Metodey to tear back his mask again, leave him wretched and filthy in a gutter somewhere. 

He shivered, though there was no wind to chill him in the still of the underground. Perhaps, then, it was just the chill of glinting amber eyes, of a smile like a knife blade, of a cackle at his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> You did it! I'm proud of you.
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


End file.
